


The Boy with the Flaxen Hair

by midnightswordsdance



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: A shocking number of Debussy music references, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - Idols, Fluff, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, i think, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25860202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightswordsdance/pseuds/midnightswordsdance
Summary: It wasn't that he wasn't used to people flirting with him. He saw it onstage, offstage, on social media, everywhere. But those people never flirted with him personally. They were flirting with the idea of him. The persona. The8.But for some reason, Junhui managed to get under his skin every time, seeing straight into his soul, no problem. Junhui, and his stupid piano, and his stupid, amazing, feel-better pieces.
Relationships: Wen Jun Hui | Jun/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 8
Kudos: 117





	The Boy with the Flaxen Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is entirely self-indulgent (I really love Debussy pieces, okay?). It's also kind of (playfully) making fun of fics with tons of references to famous art pieces I don't recognize, so I'm trying to do the same with Debussy piano pieces. Enjoy!
> 
> The title is from The Girl with the Flaxen Hair by Claude Debussy.

Minghao didn’t know why he was here.

It had been a full three years since he debuted as a solo artist, so he should’ve known by now how to deal with loneliness. And he wasn’t _really_ alone - he had his backup dancers, his manager. It’s not like he didn’t have friends, either. 

But then again, it had been three full years since he left home. Six, if you count his years as a trainee, though back then, where there were tons of trainees spilling in and out of the dorms and the practice rooms, it was impossible to ever be alone. 

It had been three full years, but he still didn’t know how to be alone. 

The random hole-in-the-wall bar a few streets away from his apartment was packed with people, even in the doorway, where people were consistently spilling in and out. There was classical music coming from somewhere deep inside the bar, some slow, atmospheric piano piece, but there were so many people all over the place that it was hard to hear. The room was hot from the bright overhead lights, and his mask was stifling, but he kept it on. Wouldn’t want the press to find Xu Minghao at a bar by himself, right?

He really didn’t know why he was here, since it wasn’t like he could do anything, really. He got a drink from the bar (tequila, since he was tired) and moved to a quiet corner so he could take off his mask without too many people seeing him. It wasn’t like he could dance, since there wasn’t anyone to dance with, and the music wasn’t really dancing music. And he couldn’t talk to people, since then he’d get caught. Besides, everyone seemed to be crowded around the piano, anyway.

A small, starved part of himself wished that he could take someone home, but that wasn’t an option. And even if he wasn’t an idol, trying to hit up a boy on this side of town probably wasn’t the smartest idea.

The classical music began winding to a close. He hadn’t been paying much attention to the music, but he could tell that the pianist was pretty good. He stood up, putting his mask back on and leaving his empty drink on the table behind him to go listen.

The piece ended around the time that Minghao arrived, edging his way into the small crowd of people standing and watching the pianist play. When he finished, the pianist looked up, grinning when the crowd started to clap, and...wow. 

The pianist was handsome, all sharp nose and jawline, and he had a mischievous smile. His hair was dyed blond and styled so that it was pushed back, revealing his forehead. And there was an odd quality about him, a kind of magnetic energy around him, that drew Minghao in. Something about his eyes, maybe, and how focused they were.

“Thank you, thank you,” said the pianist, winking at an older woman on the right. “Hope you liked that one, ma'am. Any requests for the next piece? Maybe from that cutie in the mask over there?”

Minghao’s eyes widened as everyone’s head swiveled to face him, including the pianist. His gaze was as sharp as the rest of his features, head tilted back a little, like he was appraising him. 

After a second, his head tipped forward again, this time to the side. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re boring,” said the pianist, his lips sticking out in a pout. An honest-to-God pout. Minghao’s breath was stolen from his lungs at the sight of it. “Don’t you listen to any classical music?”

“Um.” Minghao scoured his brain for a piece, although honestly, his mind had completely blanked upon seeing the pianist’s face. He wasn’t very well-versed in the world of classical music, though he remembered one piece he’d always liked listening to whenever his mother turned on the classical radio. “The Girl with the Flaxen Hair?”

“Ooh, he’s cultured after all,” said the pianist, his grin getting even wider, and the crowd _oohed_ right along with him. It seemed like everyone there was already familiar with the pianist and his odd personality. “You’ve proven me wrong, pretty boy.” He rubbed his hands together, and wiggled his pretty fingers. “Hmm, The Girl with the Flaxen Hair...a respectable choice. I will accept your request!”

The crowd suddenly let out a whoop and a cheer, and Minghao jumped, startled. “He only takes about 30% of the requests he gets,” a man next to him whispered in his ear. “You made a lucky choice.”

Minghao raised an eyebrow. “Lucky?” He couldn’t understand how a request could be _lucky_ . What really was _lucky_ was that no one in the crowd had realized that he was an idol yet.

“Yeah,” said the man. “You’re obviously a newbie, so you don’t know the drill. Junhui only performs a piece once every three months or so, and he only plays pieces he likes. And sometimes, even if a piece fits both of those factors, he won’t play it because he doesn’t feel like it. It’s practically a miracle you landed one on the first try.” The man gave a long, sad sigh. “It’s been months since I’ve gotten one right.”

 _Junhui_ , Minghao thought. That was his name. It seemed to suit him well. “What’s the reward for making a good request?”

“Nothing,” the man replied. “It just feels nice. Junhui’s kind of a miracle worker. There’s no piece he doesn’t know, and he knows just the right piece to make you feel better if you ask for it. He’s kind of the center of this whole place. Tons of people come here just to see him.”

“Huh.” 

On stage, Junhui was gearing up to play again, and he met Minghao’s eyes. “You ready, pretty boy?” Minghao’s cheeks flushed, but he was glad that Junhui couldn’t see it through the mask. “Okay, then. Here we go!”

The crowd cheered, and he began to play.

~

For the next few weeks, Minghao was swamped with work, trying to prepare for the upcoming comeback. He didn’t have time to go back to the bar until two days before the music video was set to release, around four in the afternoon. It was way too early for anyone respectable to go to a bar, but he didn’t care. He needed a drink.

The bar was basically empty save for a few employees milling about, but Junhui was already there, doing scales and arpeggios, most likely warming up for when people were going to start arriving. He stopped playing when Minghao approached.

“Oh, The8-ssi, hello!” He stood up, giving a quick bow. “I thought you’d vanished off the face of the earth. No one comes to my piano and doesn’t come back at least once unless they’re dead.”

“You know my name?” For a second, he panicked. What if other people had known he was there? He did a quick check of his surroundings, making sure no one else was paying attention.

“Do I know your name?” Junhui laughed, his mouth opening wide. “You’re, like, one of the biggest idols in Korea. Of course I know your name. I play classical music, but I don’t live under a rock.”

“You didn’t say anything about it the last time I was here.”

Junhui shrugged. “You were wearing a mask. And you were trying to blend into the crowd.”

“Oh,” said Minghao. He pushed his mask a little higher over his face. “Sorry that I’m here so early. I have dance practice in half an hour, and I need a drink.” He gestured to the glass of wine in his hand, and Junhui hummed in understanding.

“Drink away,” said Junhui, giving him a small smile. “If you want, I can play you something in the meantime.”

Minghao frowned. “I thought that you only took a very exclusive number of requests, like 30% or something.”

“Oh my God, no,” Junhui groaned. “Are they actually calculating the percentage of requests I take?”

Minghao shrugged. “That’s what some guy said.”

“That must be Wonwoo,” said Junhui. “He’s always trying to beat the system with numbers. But here’s the secret.” 

He opened up the seat of the piano bench, which revealed a bunch of really thick binders. He took them all out and pushed back the music stand so he could set them on the top of the piano. “These are my feel-better pieces.”

”Feel-better pieces?”

“Wonwoo must have told you about them,” continued Junhui. “If someone’s feeling sad, I have a bunch of pieces designed to make them feel better. Hence, the name feel-better pieces.” He took the binders and put all of them except the last one back into the piano bench. “So there’s no secret or algorithm or whatever. If I see someone needs a feel-better piece, I’ll reject all of the others until someone else picks the one that fits the bill. If no one needs a feel-better piece, I’ll just randomly pick the ones I like.”

“So, which one was I?” Minghao asked. “Did you pick my piece because someone else needed it, or because you liked it?”

“A little bit of both,” said Junhui. “I think you needed the feel-better piece, and I also happen to really like it. It just so happened that you requested it, too.” It was then that he turned a little shy, breaking eye contact for a moment. “Did it make you feel better?”

“Definitely,” said Minghao, and it surprised him how genuine it felt to say it. “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you.” He gave Minghao another appraising look, the same one as the first day, like he was seeing straight through to his soul. “You look tired. Do you want another feel-better piece?”

“Sure,” he replied. “Which one?”

Junhui smiled, and picked up the feel-better piece binder, opening it up against the stand. “I was thinking about it since it’s by the same composer as the Girl with the Flaxen Hair, Claude Debussy. It’s called Golliwog's Cakewalk. It’s a bit short, but I think you’ll like it. How about it, The8-ssi?”

“It’s Minghao,” said Minghao. “Most people call me that. I think if people in real life called me The8-ssi all the time, I would die.”

“Minghao it is, then,” replied Junhui. “So, Minghao, how about that Golliwog’s Cakewalk?”

He checked his watch. He still had five minutes or so. “Okay.” 

“Great!” said Junhui, and with the way Junhui looked so earnest, staring at the sheet music like it was his own child, it was impossible not to smile. “Here we go!”

The piece was very different, almost like a circus. Golliwog’s Cakewalk was playful and fun, and Junhui’s fingers jumped up with the frequent staccato notes like they were dancing. The piece ended in a big flourish, and Minghao applauded.

“You didn’t look at the music once,” said Minghao. “How do you just memorize dozens of pieces?”

“Is it that much different from memorizing dozens of choreographies?” Junhui countered. “Honestly, it’s probably harder to dance than it is to play the piano. More moving and all of that.”

“I think it’s amazing,” said Minghao, awed. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to play an instrument.”

Junhui grinned. “Well, it’s never too late to start something new.”

Minghao opened his mouth to start to ask him to play something else, but his phone rang. “Sorry,” he said apologetically to Junhui, who smiled back. “I have to go. My manager’s trying to figure out where I am.”

“No worries,” said Junhui, shrugging. “Wouldn’t mind having you back sometime, though. With the crowd, or without it. I like hanging around pretty boys.”

Minghao left with his cheeks and his ears bright red, and from Junhui’s knowing look, it was obvious. 

~

“The pretty boy’s returned,” remarked Junhui when Minghao walked into the bar three weeks later. 

Minghao had had the option to go out to dinner with his manager after the last day of promotions, but he’d opted to go out by himself. He wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted a drink or because he wanted to see Junhui, but the two were kind of mixing at this point.

It was late enough that there were people getting drinks now, but Junhui was sitting at the bar instead of the piano, reading a book. Instead of being gelled back like usual, his hair was down, bangs stopping just before his eyes. Someone else was playing the piano, a shorter guy with mint-colored hair. 

Even though he was in the place he normally was, seeing Junhui without a crowd around him made him seem a little out of place. Even when it had been too early for anyone to be at the bar, like last time, Junhui seemed to naturally be a crowd-gatherer and source of interest. It was odd to see him all alone, with no one else grappling for his attention.

“You’re not playing today?” Minghao asked.

Junhui shook his head. “It’s my off-day. But I like coming here, and the music’s still good.” He waved over the bartender, who replaced his bottle of soju. “Today's guy, Yoongi hyung, likes Debussy, too, actually. He's playing a Debussy piece called Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum." He turned back to Minghao, running a hand through his hair.

"I'd figured that more people would want to talk to you, even though you're not playing," Minghao remarked, looking around the bar. There were some people watching the other pianist, but not nearly as many as he'd seen around Junhui that first night. "You seem very popular."

"Nah," Junhui scoffed. "They're only really here for the music. Other than what I can do with my feel-better pieces, they don't really have much interest in me."

Minghao raised an eyebrow. "That's not very polite of them."

"It doesn't really bother me. Besides, you're here. At least I have one person saying hi," said Junhui. "But that's enough about me. What are you doing here?"

It would be beyond humiliating to say he was there to see a boy he'd met a grand total of two times, so he half-lied. "Promotions for my album ended today, so I'm celebrating."

Junhui's eyes twinkled. "I won't lie, drinking alone at a tiny bar sounds pretty depressing." He took a long sip from his bottle. "Unless I'm allowed to hang out with you."

Minghao squared his shoulders, pretending to weigh his options. "I suppose I could be convinced to let you hang around." He pulled out the barstool next to Junhui's and sat down, smiling shyly.

Instantly, Junhui's face brightened, like a light was turned on right in front of his face. "Great! Can I buy you a drink, then?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense,” said Junhui. “I’m doing it because I want to. Let’s see. You look like a wine person. Am I right?”

Minghao snorted. “Why do I look like a wine person?”

“I don’t know, you just do. You have an artsy aesthetic, like you like to paint by the window in a beret with a glass of wine beside you. Also, you bought wine the last time you were here.” He finished the rest of his drink, reaching over the counter so he could put it in the sink on the bartender’s side. _He must come here often,_ Minghao thought. “So, are you?”

“Yeah,” said Minghao. Thinking about it, that was kind of his aesthetic. He’d never thought about himself having an aesthetic before, but after Junhui said it, it made a lot more sense. “You’re very perceptive.”

“Nah. Just about the people I want to get to know,” said Junhui, and he was _smirking_ , the little motherfucker.

The wine arrived, and Junhui paid, much to Minghao’s protest. He couldn’t imagine a pianist earned that much money, and Minghao had way too much money to know what to do with it, but Junhui waved him off. “So, what is it that you want to know about me?” Minghao asked, taking a sip of wine.

“No idea,” Junhui replied. “It’s just...you’re very different in real life from how I thought you’d be.” 

“Well, everyone’s a little different at work versus at home.” Junhui hummed in agreement. Minghao pressed on. “What do you think is different about me?”

Junhui tilted his head to the side, thinking. “You’re a lot more reserved,” he said after a moment. “Not shy, per se, but just quieter. A lot cuter, too.”

Minghao glared at him. “I’m not cute.”

Junhui threw his head back and laughed, loud. “You’re literally pouting,” he said, still laughing a little. “When I first saw you on stage, you looked so scary and cool doing backflips and shit. But you’re kind of a squish.”

“A squish? What even is a squish?”

“I don’t know.” Junhui waved his hands, creating random shapes in the air. “Like, an _I kind of want to put you in my pocket_ kind of squish. Or an _I bet he has a pretty smile_ kind of squish. 

“Though,” he continued, “I kind of wish I could see your face more often. It’s a very nice face.”

Minghao wasn’t sure if he’d ever been more ~~flattered~~ embarrassed in his life. “Um.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Junhui. “I kind of start rambling when I’m nervous. Or drunk. Or both, in this case. Also, I forgot to ask you if you like boys before I started flirting with you. Kind of an important thing to remember, I guess.”

“I do,” said Minghao, still recovering from when Junhui said he had a nice face, “but that’s kind of, um, off the record.”

“Of course, of course. I can keep a secret.” Junhui gave a cheeky wink, and Minghao grimaced. “But that’s good! First, it means that we can hang out some more, and second, it means I’m not harassing an idol.”

“Shh!” Minghao shushed him. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Sorry,” Junhui replied, his voice quieter. “I forgot about that.”

Just then, his phone rang. He didn’t have to check it to know it was his manager, trying to figure out where he’d snuck off this time. God, he was going to kill Jeonghan one day. “I’ve gotta run,” he said. Then, he mustered up some courage (mostly liquid courage) and spoke again. “But if I'm free sometime, we should hang out again."

Junhui smiled, showing off his perfect teeth. “I’d love that.”

Despite getting cock-blocked by his manager, Minghao left the bar smiling, a handsome boy on his mind. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought.

~

Three days. Minghao got the entirety of three days to relax and do nothing. After that, it was back to the routine.

"I think I'm dying," he groaned to Jeonghan on the drive home from the company building. There was an unnecessary amount of room in the van (the company used the same vans for big groups and solo artists), so he lay sprawled out in the backseat, eyes closed.

Jeonghan at least had the decency to sound sympathetic. "You can rest up when you get back to the dorm."

Minghao thought of his nice, warm bed, and the idea of passing out for a few hours. But then he thought of Junhui at the bar, his pretty hands at the piano, and getting to see him. "I think I'm going to go get a drink," he said. "I need something strong."

He didn't actually need a drink, and the idea of getting up with a hangover sounded even worse than staying up late, but he bet Junhui was going to be there.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, but nodded. Minghao usually had good behavior. "Just don't stay out too late. You've got practice at 8."

It wasn't so late that people weren't still out drinking, so Junhui's performance was in full swing when he arrived. Once the piece he was playing was over, he turned to face Minghao, his face lighting up. "Hey, everyone, it's our masked cutie!" Everyone turned to Minghao as well. Minghao blushed and pulled his bucket hat even further over his face. "Sorry, he's shy," Junhui continued with a laugh, turning back to the piano. "Who wants the next request?"

About fifteen people raised their hands. It was pretty impressive that they were still so hyped up despite the late hour. Junhui listened to a few of them, and then picked the sixth or seventh one he heard. Just before he started to play, he turned his head to Minghao, and _winked_.

It was honestly a miracle that Minghao didn't just faint right then and there.

Junhui played a few more songs, including one of Minghao's (he was sure that Junhui had picked that one on purpose), before calling it a night. The crowd immediately started shuffling to the exit without a word, some of them talking animatedly to each other. Some people had left tips in Junhui's jar, but interestingly, no one seemed to say goodbye to him. Minghao started leaving with the rest of the crowd, throwing a friendly smile over his shoulder, but Junhui grabbed his arm before he could leave.

"Hey," said Junhui, brushing some stray hairs out of his face. The bleach was starting to fade out of his hair, with darker hair growing at the roots. "Sorry I didn't see you before."

"You _have_ to stop calling me out whenever you see me," Minghao hissed back. "Someone's going to notice who I am besides you at some point."

"What do you mean?" Junhui was playing the innocent card, with puppy eyes and the whole package. "I'm just shouting out my very cute friend. What's the harm in that?"

His heart did a tiny happy dance at the word _friend_. He supposed they'd met up long enough that they were more than strangers now, but it was extra exhilarating to hear it. But it was dangerous, this balance between meeting up with a boy and maintaining an image, and with that, Junhui wasn't helping. "Junhui, you know how it looks when you say stuff like that."

Junhui crossed his arms. "It doesn't have to look like anything. Most people aren't automatically assuming that."

"Fans can make anything something," said Minghao, sighing, "and I don't want you to get in the middle of that. It's not fun, trust me."

"I'm sorry, then," said Junhui, growing more serious. "I know it's probably risky. I don't have to flirt with you and stuff in public if you don't want that."

"It's not that I don't want it," Minghao said quickly. "I, um, I like it a lot, actually. Just not so much in front of other people," he added bashfully.

Junhui's face slowly lit up again. "Really? You don't find me annoying?"

Minghao gave him an incredulous look. "This _is_ the fourth time I've been here. If I found you annoying, I wouldn't be going back."

It could have just been the glare of the light in the bar, but Minghao swore the sun was shining prematurely with the way Junhui beamed at him. "Great!" He said excitedly. "I'm glad that you don't mind me talking to you. It's hard to know with you. You're so tsundere all the time." He went back to the piano and started gathering up his things. "So, does this mean I'm allowed to talk to you like that in more _private_ places?" He stretched out the word _private_ , raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Minghao cringed. "This could have been such a sweet moment, where I reveal that I actually don't mind talking to you," he complained, "and you just ruined it."

"See, this is what I mean. So adorably tsundere." Minghao buried his face in his hands, much to Junhui's amusement. "But if you don't find me annoying, do I get your number?"

If Jeonghan had been with him and had seen him giving his phone number to a _civilian_ , he would probably tear his hair out. But something about Junhui and the casual, unapologetically honest way he talked and acted made Minghao think he could be trusted.

 _Junhui_ (1:34am)  
Hiiiii

 _Me_ (1:34am)  
Go to bed

 _Junhui_ (1:35am)  
:(

 _Junhui_ (1:35am)  
You're no fun

 _Junhui_ (1:36am)  
Goodnight pretty boy

Even several miles away, Junhui had the uncanny ability to make Minghao flustered.

 _Me_ (1:37am)  
fgjhfkjlhgksfhgjlh

 _Me_ (1:37am)  
Goodnight

~

Objectively, texting Junhui was annoying. He was just as energetic over the phone as he was in real life, each message riddled with unnecessary exclamation points and emojis, obnoxious stickers and a terrifying number of Kermit memes. He had a habit of texting one word at a time, and spamming him when he didn’t respond right away, like a child.

Subjectively, Minghao thought it was cute.

They weren’t friends, exactly, but they weren’t dating, either. Minghao had forgotten how much he missed this, that “Does he like me?” feeling, the feeling of anticipation he got waiting for his next text, like he was in high school again. And Junhui was good at feeding that feeling, too, sending _good morning_ and _goodnight_ texts and random selcas throughout the day. Sometimes, he left voice messages, just telling Minghao about his day, and the people that he’d played for at the bar, and Minghao would sometimes play them three or four times.

God, Minghao was smitten. 

But they were at a bit of a plateau, now. From his teenage days, Minghao knew this was the time where one person was supposed to ask to hang out in person, or go out on a date, or something. But maybe Junhui wasn’t about things like that. He didn’t know Junhui well enough to know. 

Did he want to date Junhui? Maybe. Yes. Yes, definitely. But when it came to idols dating non-idols, there were _logistics_ , and _rules_ , and scary _Expectations_ with a capital “E” for emphasis. People had Expectations for dating idols, like it was like winning the lottery. Minghao didn't think he could ever live up to them.

But Junhui was nice, and sweet, and handsome. He was the kind of person that made Minghao want to try.

“Who’s texting you?” Mingyu asked him one day when they were out for lunch.

“Nobody,” replied Minghao, though he laughed out loud when Junhui sent him a picture of his lunch: instant ramen cooked in red Gatorade. _It doesn’t actually taste that bad!_ , Junhui had written under the photo.

“That’s bullshit,” said Mingyu. “Are you seeing someone? An idol?”

“Why do you think I’m seeing someone?”

“You have that _look_ whenever you’re with someone,” said Mingyu, a smirk on his face. “You get all giggly and weird.”

He wasn’t seeing Junhui. Not exactly, anyway. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not.”

“Oh, yes you are, you just don’t want to admit it yet.” Mingyu crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s see...who could it be? Renjun, maybe? He’s a little young for you, but who knows? Oh, maybe Yanan. Or Ten?”

“First of all, why did you name only Chinese people? Second, it’s not an idol. I’m not _stupid_ ,” said Minghao, rolling his eyes.

Mingyu let out a little _aha!_. “So you _are_ seeing someone!” he exclaimed. “I knew it. And it’s a fan, too? I never took you for being so scandalous.”

Minghao sighed, relenting. “We haven’t talked about it yet. Dating, I mean. It's complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” said Mingyu, frowning. “You like him. He likes you, too. You should date.”

Minghao gave another sigh. “You and I both know that it’s not that easy. And I don't even know if dating is what he's after.”

“It is that easy, though," replied Mingyu. "Just talk to him. If he wants to date you, then date him. And if he doesn’t, you never needed him anyway.”

“But what if he leaks something to the press? Or he has really high expectations for how it'll be?” 

“Then you’ll figure it out from there,” Mingyu said reassuringly. “But if you like him, you should trust yourself. You only occasionally make terrible decisions.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Really, I think you should go for it. You’ve been alone for way too long. It’s probably bad for your digestion.”

Minghao scrunched up his nose and flicked Mingyu on the forehead, making him yelp and slap him playfully, but already, he felt a little better.

That night (more like the next morning, since practice ended late and he’d stayed even later by himself), he texted Junhui.

 _Me_ (1:45am) _  
_ Do you want to hang out sometime?

 _Me_ (1:46am)  
Like dinner or something

 _Junhui_ (1:47am)  
Sure 

_Junhui_ (1:47am)  
Tomorrow for dinner at my place?

 _Junhui_ (1:48am)  
I mean I have no idea how to cook so you might need to help me with that but I’m down

 _Me_ (1:49am) _  
_ See you then

~

Junhui’s apartment, a little flat at the top of a six-story walk-up, was tiny compared to his own, but it was a lot more cozy. There was a row of bookshelves across the left wall, filled seemingly with books with sheet music and musical theory, and there was a large grand piano pushed against the wall on the other side. A piano piece was playing through a speaker perched on the windowsill. He stopped for a moment and listened, and he recognized it immediately. The Girl with the Flaxen Hair, the same piece Junhui played for him on the night they met.

If he knew Junhui at all from their texts and the times they'd met, he knew that Junhui had probably picked that piece on purpose.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Junhui announced dramatically after he’d let Minghao inside. “Please help me with dinner. I knew we would need ingredients to make food, but I didn’t know what we were making, so I kind of just bought everything.”

 _Everything_ was a bit of an understatement. Junhui’s kitchen counter was just covered in random ingredients. “How do you live by yourself and can’t cook?”

Junhui shrugged. “I’m at the bar most days, and they usually give me free food. And there's always ramen.”

They made congee, because Junhui at least knew how to make rice. There was something terribly domestic about the whole thing, standing side-by-side at the kitchen counter. Junhui’s eyes were laser-focused on the pot, as if it would explode if he wasn’t watching it at all times. Minghao found it incredibly endearing.

“So,” Junhui said suddenly, “how’s the idol life? Is it exciting? Exhilarating? Scandalous?”

“It’s fine,” Minghao replied. “Just kind of tiring. I got three days to do nothing after promotions for the new comeback ended, and now things are starting back up again.”

Junhui hummed in acknowledgement. “It seems like that would be hard.”

Minghao shrugged. “It’s not so bad.” He opened up the pot, tasted the congee, and added in some more salt. “You get used to the routine after a while.”

“Any spoilers you can give me for the next album?” Junhui asked, a corner of his mouth lifting up a little.

“Nope, don’t even think about trying that,” said Minghao, shaking his head disapprovingly. “My manager would kill me.”

Junhui pouted. “Not even for your favorite, most-talented, most-handsome-and-charming bar pianist?”

Minghao barked out a laugh. “That’s a bold assumption. Maybe I have some other good-looking bar pianist person I hang out with when I’m not with you.”

“Never. I’m irreplaceable,” said Junhui definitively, putting his hands on his hips like a child. He was smirking again. It bothered Minghao how hot he looked doing that. “Also, you called me good-looking.”

Had he? He’d barely even realized it. “No, I didn’t.”

Junhui looked _giddy_ , if a fully grown adult could even look giddy. “Yes, you did!” He bounced up and down on his toes. “You think I’m handsome.”

“Yah,” said Minghao, though he was more flustered than angry. “Don’t get a big head about it.”

There was no dining table for some reason, so they ate sitting on the counter, Minghao’s legs dangling off the edge. Minghao asked him about the bar, and Junhui, cheerful as ever, launched into a long, winding story about how his coworker brought his niece to the bar (which was mildly questionable, but whatever), and he’d played the piano for her. It was easy to listen to him talk, since he was so excited about everything.

At some point, one of Junhui's hands made its way over on top of his knee, warm and comforting. It was then, too, that Minghao realized how close they'd gotten, with their thighs, elbows, and shoulders already touching. And somehow, though he'd never been the type for skinship, he found he didn't mind.

“Sorry, I’m probably talking too much,” Junhui said to him at some point, looking apologetic. “I like to ramble about the piano. I think you’ve noticed that.”

“It’s fine,” said Minghao. “It’s nice listening to you. I like that you're so passionate about it.”

"You're just flattering me." Junhui reached over to take Minghao's empty bowl and place it in the sink. "I bet your life is a lot more interesting than mine, getting to see all of the other celebrities and stuff."

Minghao shook his head. "It's really not that interesting," he said. "Getting to meet all of the celebrities is cool, I guess. But it mostly just feels like I'm living in the practice room every single day until I eventually drop dead."

Junhui tilted his head to the side. "Then why do you do it?"

"Part of it is the fame. I think I'm self-aware enough to know that I like getting attention for the work I do," he replied, feeling particularly honest. "But it's also for the fans. Maybe some of them are having a hard time, but if I can make their day just a bit better, it's worth it, you know?"

"I think I get it," said Junhui, "with the feel-better pieces and all that. It feels like a waste of potential not to use my skills to help someone feel better, even if I get tired of it."

"Do you?" Minghao asked. "Do you get tired of playing for other people?"

"Sometimes," Junhui said, his nose scrunching up a little in thought. "But not with you. I like that you're interested in what I have to say about music."

Minghao hesitated, but in the end, he couldn't help asking. "Do you like that I'm interested because it's _me_ , or do you like it because I'm an idol?" There were a couple of other questions underneath it. _Are you talking to me now because I'm an idol? Am I at your house because I'm an idol? Do you like_ me _, or do you like The8?_

What scared him the most was that he didn't know how Junhui would respond. Not a clue.

Junhui swung his legs off the counter so that he could look Minghao right in the eye. He was a few centimeters taller, so like this, they were about the same height. When he spoke, he sounded dead serious. "When I saw you that first day, I knew who you were as soon as I saw you, I'll admit that. But for me, you were just another exhausted person in need of a song, and I delivered. And yes, I flirted with you. I flirt with almost everyone."

Minghao's heart dropped from his throat all the way to the bottom of his stomach. Did Junhui not find him special, then? He started to say, "So, you're saying-", but Junhui cut him off.

"Let me finish," Junhui said firmly. "Yeah, I didn't think much of you at first, other than the fact that a famous idol had requested a song from me, and that was pretty cool. But you came back, on an off-day, and even though I wasn't playing, you stayed and talked to me. No one else has done that before." He looked down at the floor for a moment, looking a little forlorn, before carrying on. "From that moment on, you didn't feel like a regular customer, or an idol. You showed interest in what I had to say, which is more than most people I meet do. So, of course I like that you're interested because it's you. Obviously, I think that it's interesting that you're an idol, because there aren't too many of those in the world. But when I'm thinking about you, I think about _Minghao_ , not _The8_."

Junhui took in a deep breath as soon as he finished, like he'd said it all in one breath. Minghao was frozen in one position, blinking in shock at him, once, twice. After a full ten seconds of nothing, Junhui gave a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. "After saying all of that, you've got to have at least something to say," he said, looking kind of embarrassed, an emotion Minghao didn't even know he possessed.

"I'm not sure what to say," Minghao replied faintly. "That was very kind of you."

There were really no words to describe how he was feeling. Relieved, sure, that Junhui reciprocated all of the ways he felt about him. Flattered, too, that Junhui thought so highly of him. But something about what Junhui said about how few people showed interest in him struck a chord, and he didn't know how to feel about that. Sad, definitely, but also intrigued by how someone as talented as Junhui could feel so unrecognized, and glad that he'd made Junhui happy. He didn't think he could express that in words. Not without a diagram of his heart or something.

At Minghao's compliment, a small part of Junhui seemed to preen, and some of his confidence came back. "You could always kiss me. I've heard that's a good cure for most things."

Half of himself really wanted to smack Junhui for being a brat. The other half kind really wanted to kiss him.

"Hey," Junhui whined when Minghao pinched his arm, _hard._ But when Minghao leaned in to press his mouth to his, it seemed like he'd forgotten all about it. His hand flew up to cup Minghao's face, his long, slender fingers curling over his jaw. His lips were soft.

"I think I like you," Minghao whispered against his mouth when they pulled apart a little. 

"That's good," replied Junhui, turning his head to kiss Minghao's cheek, his nose, the corner of his mouth. "Since last I checked, we were on a date." He pulled back suddenly, leaving Minghao trying to blink the haze out of his eyes. "Wait, we're on a date, right? I tend to skip steps sometimes."

Minghao rolled his eyes. "Of course this is a date," he said, feeling a little impatient to get back to kissing. "I'm in your house, in which I actually cooked your dinner for you. And before you so rudely interrupted us, we were having a perfectly nice makeout session on your kitchen counter. Those all sound like very date-like things."

"Happy first date, then," said Junhui, eyes fluttering shut when Minghao pulled at the ends of his hair to tug him closer.

Flaxen hair, he thought, chuckling to himself.

~

It was the end of another long day of practice, and Minghao's body was sore all over, from his head to his toes. Still, he managed to get himself out the door quickly without Jeonghan noticing and started the short walk to the bar.

Junhui, like normal, was at the piano when he arrived, surrounded by a loud of crowd of people. His blond hair looked almost white under the lights focused on him. When he saw Minghao come through the door, he abruptly stopped playing and stood up to hug him.

"I missed you," he murmured against Minghao's hair in his softer, more private voice, nuzzling him once before pulling away. "Everyone, our masked cutie's returned!" He said to the rest of the crowd, who cheered in response. Junhui was always good at getting the crowd to match his energy.

"Sorry about stopping the performance," he continued once he'd settled back on the bench. "Now, where were we?" He glanced up at the sheet music on the stand. "Ah, right, The Girl with the Flaxen Hair. This is dedicated to a very special someone. In fact, I'm pretty sure they know who they are. Here we go."

He turned to Minghao with the most gentle smile on his face, lifting a hand to give him a finger heart and blowing a kiss in his direction. Then, he started to play.

**Author's Note:**

> I briefly considered having Junhao do the horizontal tango against a piano, but I couldn't find a suitable place in the fic to write it.
> 
> If you're not as much of a music nerd as me but are interested in the pieces referenced in this fic, check out The Girl with the Flaxen Hair, Golliwog's Cakewalk, Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum, as well as Reverie and the Deux Arabesques (not referenced in the fic, but also very nice to listen to), which are all by Claude Debussy. 
> 
> Comments, feedback, and kudos are always appreciated. Thanks!
> 
> You can find me at @Mid_SwordsDance on Twitter and at midnightswordsdance on Tumblr.


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